


with your breezeblocks

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:31:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after the lawsuits, Mark leaves some messages on Eduardo's phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with your breezeblocks

College is where you experiment and test out the boundaries of your sexuality, right? So when Mark meets Eduardo in a freshman math class and spends most of it stealing glances, he figures well, here I am, wanting to make out with a guy. He decides to wait and see how it goes, and the guy in question strikes up a conversation. They start hanging out, they’re both in AEPi, and they have some similar interests. Mark settles into the patterns of being attracted to a friend, which are altogether quite nice. Eduardo pretty quickly gets a girlfriend, and Mark discovers he’s not jealous; he just wants Eduardo to be happy, and he is, so Mark is happy. It’s good that at least one of them has someone.

By sophomore year, they’re best friends, and Mark’s life is pretty sweet. He has a girlfriend, he excels at his classes, he hangs out with Eduardo a lot. Then suddenly he doesn’t have a girlfriend but he _does_ have the status of The Guy Who Crashed Harvard’s Server. Things seem to happen really quickly, and then he’s walking home from a brilliant lecture by Bill Gates and Eduardo’s talking about these girls who want to meet them for drinks. He has this clear moment where he thinks, _I wonder what it’d be like to have a threesome, or a foursome, with him._

Sometimes when he jerks off, he thinks about whatever’s on his mind because he’s just doing whatever with his hand; a coding problem, what might be for lunch tomorrow, a test that’s coming up. Mostly he thinks about sex, though. Usually girls, sometimes ones from his classes, for a while he thought about Erica a lot, and he also thinks about Eduardo. Images flit around when he’s jerking off, a slideshow of naked women on his eyelids, but when he thinks about Eduardo it’s not because he has great boobs or great legs or anything. It’s a more specific thing than ‘this girl is hot on a scale of girl hotness’, it’s ‘Eduardo is hot because he is Eduardo’. Once he starts, he can’t stop picturing Eduardo’s mouth around his cock, can’t stop imagining what it might be like to make out with him, what it could feel like to be fucked by him, can’t stop until he’s come, with his mouth wide open to keep from making any noise.

He hasn’t thought about more than the two of them before, it’s an interesting idea. Eduardo is hot. Hot girls are hot. Having sex with both Eduardo _and_ one or more hot girls at once should be hotness either squared, cubed, or to the power of whichever number of girls it is. He wonders for a total of five seconds whether he should suggest it somehow, like, make it sound like some sort of competition — who can bring in the most girls for an orgy? — and then maybe he can pass off kissing him as just a hey-we’re-in-an-orgy-so-why-not thing, or a jubilation thing, or something.

He discards the idea fairly quickly; he’s pretty sure that would leave him with either no best friend or a really, really awkward period of time before having no best friend, and he is not happy with either possible outcome. So he just goes on a double date and has a good time, Alice is hot and keeps twirling her hair, and then Christy leads Eduardo into the men’s room and Alice looks at Mark and says, “Come on, let’s go.”

Mark realises, as he hears sounds coming from the next cubicle, that they’re right next to Christy and Eduardo. He’s so busy listening for the sounds Eduardo might be making, he’s taken by surprise when Alice unzips his pants and lets them fall. She continues kissing him for a while, one hand in his pants (holy _fuck_ it feels good), and then she bends over and takes his cock into her mouth and it’s a really hot visual. Really, it is.

Eduardo’s been making these little sort of desperate sounds for the past five minutes. Mark is slightly dizzy because he keeps forgetting to breathe while listening.

The blowjob is pretty great, all things told, clearly it’s not Alice’s first. It feels good, _so_ good, and then there is Eduardo getting blown on the other side of a flimsy bathroom-stall wall. This is probably as close as Mark is going to get to sleeping with him, so he decides to try something out.

He stops being silent.

About a second after he moans, he hears Eduardo moan, louder than the sounds he was making before but just as desperate, maybe just as involuntary. Mark lets another sound out, head leaning back against the stall door, and Eduardo makes a strangled sort of half-word noise. Mark opens his mouth and lets go entirely, feeling a good build start, part-gasps and snatches of moans and all of it. There’s a soft thump from the other stall and Eduardo makes this sound that’s sort of like he’s pleading, fuck he must be _so close_ , and suddenly Mark is very very aware that Eduardo is near him and close to orgasm. It pushes him over the edge too soon, catching him off-guard. He’d meant to say something, do something, warn Alice _some_ how, but he can’t and he moves his hips backward to try and compensate. They hit the stall door too hard and the lock shifts; he stumbles against it, panting.

“You couldn’t _say_ anything?” Alice sighs, wiping her chin.

Mark shrugs. “Uh.” She waves him quiet with one hand, then pushes past him to use the mirror. Mark stays where he is; Eduardo is making that pleading sound again, over and over. Mark does his pants up. He’s not sure what else to do with his hands.

“Um —” Eduardo’s voice cracks, and then he makes this sound like he’s exhaling every atom of oxygen from his body and they’re forming a wordless mass. Then there’s silence. “Thanks,” he says, and there’s a zipping sound.

Mark has just heard Eduardo come. He can’t look him in the eye for three minutes, but he knows Eduardo is looking at him. When he looks back, Eduardo is smiling, and Mark realises he is too. It’s not awkward, it’s not weird, it’s … they just got blown by hot girls, is what it is. Mark files the rest away to think about later.

Later turns out to be several days later, but when he does think about it, he replays the sounds Eduardo made on a loop, imagining that he’s the one eliciting them. He’s only ever really thought about Eduardo blowing him before; suddenly he’s imagining what it might be like to blow Eduardo, and he likes the idea a lot. Really, really a lot. Like, comes in four minutes a lot.

He wipes his hand on a tissue, turns over, and goes to sleep.

* * *

“I know,” he says into the phone, words blurring slightly, “it’s been years, but we settled. Right? I know you hate me. I hope you know I don’t hate you, I could never — not ever. You are the person I love most in the whole world, Wardo. I’m a little drunk right now. Oh, and I haven’t slept in two days, I’m going to, in a minute, I just. I needed to call you.” He curls around the phone and just breathes for a few seconds. “I uh.” He rubs his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you still do that thing where you sing along to only the first two lines of any given song’s verses? I really liked that about you. I really liked your smile, you had a good smile. You probably still do.” The machine beeps, and Mark sighs and hangs up. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, feeling a lot more drunk than he is, and then realises he’s pressing the buttons to get to Eduardo’s number again.

The answering message kicks in, “Hi, this is Eduardo Saverin’s phone. I’m not available right now, but if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you.”

Mark waits for the beep, then says, “I miss you. It’s Mark, by the way. You know, so you don’t get me mixed up with any other ex-best friends you might have.” He tries to laugh, or to smile, but only gets part way through it. “I just wanted you to know,” and he doesn’t know when he decided to do this but obviously on some level he did, because the words just tumble out of him, “that I really, really miss you. And I — in college, you know, don’t tell anyone, but — I had feelings. For guys. Well actually it was just you, really. I thought maybe Sean — but no, that wasn’t what I felt, it was — it was _nothing_ compared to you, I —” He sighs, curling further into a ball. “I miss you, Wardo. I guess you’ll never speak to me again, and I guess, since you won’t, I may as well tell you. I know I never say I’m sorry when I am, I know there’s a lot I don’t ever say, I just — Wardo, I meant it when I said I needed you. I’m sorry. Just — just, I’m sorry. I’m like ninety-eight percent sure I loved you back then. I — sorry.” He hangs up, drops the phone onto the pile of shirts next to his bed, and finally goes to sleep.

When he wakes up, he can smell something. More importantly, he needs to get to a bathroom _immediately_ or he will piss himself. So he stumbles off, manages to hit the bowl for the most part, even manages to wash his hands on autopilot (he uses a _computer_ with those hands), and stumbles back to bed. There’s something strange about the room, but he’s asleep again before he can figure out what it is.

This happens twice more, and then he wakes up again and the room is dark. Clean, it smells clean, that’s what it is. Has he sleep-hired a cleaner? He gets up, stomach growling loudly, and finds a box of Chinese takeout sitting on his desk. It wasn’t there before.

He finds his cell on the edge of the desk, the pile of shirts neatly in the laundry basket now. He calls Chris first. “Yeah, um,” he opens the box of Chinese food. It smells delicious, and is quite warm. “What day is it?”

“Friday. Are you okay? We figured you’d be sacked out for a while, but you’ve been gone longer than usual.”

“I coded longer than usual,” Mark says around a mouthful of food. It is _so good_. “Listen, did I mention hiring anybody to take care of the house? Because I woke up and my room is clean and there was Chinese takeout and it’s delicious.”

“Nope, you didn’t talk about hiring anybody. Must’ve been one of the other guys.”

“But Ian moved out last week, it’s just me here,” Mark protests.

Chris sounds like he’s shrugging. “Parting gift or something? Look, I’ve got to get back to work. You still coming in tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” He ends the call, fills his mouth with beautiful food again, and wanders out into the hallway.

It’s pretty weird living on his own, after so many years sharing. Dorms, then the house in Palo Alto, then the house in San Jose, now this house. Everyone’s grown up now, everyone wants a place of their own. No more parties all day and all night, no more company when he gets home. He likes the quiet and the solitude, it’s just weird after so many years of there always being someone right there. Someone to buy food, because not only do other people also need to eat, on his own Mark forgets he’ll be hungry after a two-day bout of coding and a one-day crash out, so there should be food in the kitchen. There isn’t, he remembers, he only has a few pop tarts left. He’s almost finished the Chinese now, and he’s still hungry. He can get some water, too.

He runs the faucet cold, filling a glass. Pads across the floor while the pop tarts are warming up. The kitchen is clean, too, Mark notices. Whoever hired the cleaner should give him her number.

There’s movement in the living room, so Mark pads over to see what it is. Cautiously, in case it’s a scorpion or something, and then he just stops and stares with his mouth open.

Eduardo is sacked out on his couch, wearing striped pajamas and looking so peaceful Mark stands there for several minutes after the pop tarts are done. He walks back to the kitchen on autopilot, grabs the pop tarts, and takes them back to his room. He sits on his bed, chews thoroughly, swallows mouthfuls of water in between bites, staring into space like something will appear to tell him why his ex-best friend, who hates him, is sleeping on his couch right now.

Nothing appears. Mark goes back to the living room, and Eduardo’s still there. He looks older; not a lot, just more mature than he looked when he was twenty. Mark looks at him for so long he starts to realise that he’s been staring at his ex-best friend’s eyelashes for ten minutes and that’s sort of creepy.

He goes back to his room, back into bed, and jerks off like he hasn’t done in a while. He’s thought about Eduardo in the years since the lawsuit; the hurt has faded, and it’s not like his memories aren’t still _there_ , memories of Eduardo patting his shoulder, sitting really close, walking so close they could have held hands, Eduardo in the bathroom stall back when they were nineteen and had groupies and Mark still remembers the sounds he made like it only just happened. He replays those noises and thinks about the Eduardo who’s currently on his couch, and gets himself off, silent out of habit.

He wakes up the next morning. There’s a note on his pillow.

 _I see you found the Chinese. Hope it was still warm._

He showers, gets dressed, and heads downstairs to the smell of coffee. Good coffee, too. Eduardo is standing in the kitchen, in a crisp gray suit. He looks up and says, “Hi.”

“Hi.” Mark edges into the room. “Did you hire a cleaner?”

Eduardo drops his head, a smile on his face Mark hasn’t seen in a really long time. “I forgot you always do that. We haven’t talked in years, here I am, and all you say is ‘Did you hire a cleaner’.”

“Yes. I don’t — I haven’t had any coffee,” he points out, reaching for a cup.

“I made you some.” Eduardo indicates a pot that Mark is fairly sure has never been that clean before.

Everything he wants to say comes rushing out in one syllable. “ _Why_?”

Eduardo sighs. “Yeah, that’s a good question.” He sits at the table, so Mark pours himself a cup of coffee and sits opposite him. “I got your messages. I guess — I don’t know. It’s been a while, and it turns out somewhere in there, I forgave you. I honestly don’t know when.”

The coffee is having its desired effect. “I left you — oh shit, the messages.” He remembers them now, things he said while drunk and sleep-deprived. He could take them back, say it was just delirium, say he didn’t mean any of it, but — Eduardo is _here_. Apparently they are _talking again_. All because of those things he said, so he doesn’t lie, he just stares at the table.

“Did you mean what you said?” Eduardo asks. His voice sounds guarded. Mark keeps his eyes on the tabletop.

“Yes,” he whispers.

“You loved me?” He suddenly sounds wrecked, like he’s been split open, and Mark’s head snaps up. Eduardo has always been an open book, or so Mark thought, but now he looks like someone just showed him a puppy and then told him it was dying.

He was only 98% sure before, but suddenly the 2% doubt just leaves. “Yes. Why, is that so bad?”

“No, I just — I didn’t know. And all that — those papers you got me to sign, you — did you love me then?”

“Yes. And I thought you forgave me for that.”

Eduardo covers his face with his hands. “Yeah, I mean, I have, I don’t hate you any more, I just —”

“Good to know,” Mark mutters.

“I just don’t get _why_ ,” Eduardo bursts out. “Mark, if you — if you _loved_ me back then, why did you screw me out of millions of dollars?”

“I thought you would _read_ the papers!” Mark returns. “I wanted to get your attention, just like when you froze our account and nearly killed the whole fucking site.”

“You — you wanted to get my attention.” Eduardo is staring at him like that’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard. “Why would you — I _sued you_.”

“For which I have forgiven you, by the way,” Mark interjects. Eduardo stares at him some more, running his hands through his hair. He always does that when he is so angry or shocked or both that he can’t speak, and Mark decides that he’ll just wait. Or maybe not _just_ wait. “Look,” he says, keeping his voice even, “you wanted to do things the site wasn’t ready for, and you _wouldn’t listen_. I thought maybe if I tried to get you reduced out, you’d fight for something, you’d maybe spend more time on the same _coast_ as me. Or you wouldn’t care and you’d get your money back — and I’d have given you interest — or we’d have worked something out. Or you’d care more about money than our friendship and sue me. I guess I found out which it was.”

Eduardo stands up, the better to gesture expansively without knocking things over. “ _I_ cared more about money? What about _you_? You set me up, you froze me out of the whole fucking _company_ , you took my _name_ off the _masthead_ , you let that fucked-up son of a bitch take over _my fucking job_ , and you sit there and tell me it was to get my _attention_?”

“It didn’t exactly work the way I wanted it to,” Mark says, somewhat bitterly.

“So it wasn’t about me getting into the Phoenix.”

Mark looks him dead in the eye and says, “No. I never hated you, Wardo.”

“Yeah. You said that.” He’s glaring, standing with his hair sticking up and his cheeks flushed. Mad as he is, Mark wants to get on his fucking knees. “This was seriously about you being in love with me?”

“No,” Mark looks at him in surprise, “it was about wanting to spend more time with you. As in, in the same room, not a long-distance call. Everything else was irrelevant.”

Eduardo sits down again, running his hands through his hair more calmly. “I can’t fucking believe you.” He shakes his head. “All that time, when we sat across the table from each other, with our fucking _lawyers_ there, and you never _once said_.”

“Well, I was hardly going to tell you when you’d made it perfectly clear how you felt about me,” Mark snaps.

“So all that time,” Eduardo repeats, “when I was suing you for millions of fucking dollars, you were in love with me?”

“Actually that was when I fell out of love with you,” Mark says, because that is what being sued by your best friend does to you.

The look on Eduardo’s face, then, is at first pure shock, but a second later he looks so intensely vulnerable that Mark has to look away. “Oh,” Eduardo says, his voice small. “So — so it was just back then? You don’t love me … any more?”

Of course he fucking does, but it’s not like he knew it until the second he was asked. “That’s what I said,” is all he gives, because he needs to keep him from knowing everything. It hurts less that way.

Mark stands up. “I’m going to get breakfast,” he says, and Eduardo nods. “I mean, I’m going to run out and _buy_ breakfast,” Mark clarifies.

“I figured. You don’t have anything here,” Eduardo waves a hand. His voice is still quiet, and he isn’t making eye contact.

“I’ll get you a muffin,” Mark says, and leaves.

The thing is, with the absence of friendship, it’s not just an extension of it. He buys muffins and donuts and French toast to go, not really looking at anyone, not really thinking about what he’s doing, just prodding at the sensations when he pictures Eduardo’s face.

When they were best friends, loving him was just a thing that happened in life. He already loved him as a friend, so it was a casual step over a line to fall in love, and it never really hurt. Not when Eduardo had a girlfriend, not when they fell asleep on the couch watching reruns of stupid sitcoms because they were too drunk to change the channel, not any time. Somewhere along the way it had started to hurt, near the end, when it felt like he could never compete with advertising executives, when he didn’t know how many more times he could say “I need you” before Eduardo would come and fucking live with them, when Eduardo stormed into his office and smashed his laptop and yelled in his face, when he sat across the table from him day after day going over every detail of their lives since starting Facebook, when he left on the last day without even looking at Mark. Then it just … wasn’t. There was Facebook, and there was home, and there were a few girls he slept with, but mostly he lived and breathed Facebook just like he had since he’d had the idea.

And now Eduardo is in his kitchen looking like the sick puppy has just died because he thinks Mark doesn’t love him any more, and they’re not friends so it can’t be just a part of that, and they’re not really enemies since they’ve forgiven each other, they’re just … maybe they’re just tying up loose ends. So that leaves Mark in love with a stupid impossible person who means the fucking world to him and is about to break his heart. Again.

He gets back home, sets the food on the table. Eduardo is sitting on the couch, typing something into his phone. He doesn’t look up until Mark’s been leaning against the archway that serves as a door frame for a while.

“I sort of lied,” Mark says. “It was what I said, but it … wasn’t true.”

“I — what wasn’t?” Eduardo stands to face him, hands fiddling with his phone.

“That it was just then.” Mark forces himself to make and maintain eye contact. He thinks, _Fuck it all_ , and drops his guard. If they’re tying up loose ends, they’ll tie them up.

Eduardo breathes, “Mark,” and crosses the distance between them in three strides. Mark has no idea what Eduardo saw on his face, but he doesn’t give a single shit because Eduardo is standing a few inches away and he looks wrecked again, open and hurt and he says, “I fucking love you, you _asshole_ ,” and then they’re kissing. It’s fast and harsh and Eduardo shoves him against the archway, pressing close. He’s making those same pleading noises he did years ago in a dingy Harvard bar bathroom, tiny sounds caught in his throat. Mark gets hard so fast he’s a little light-headed.

The kiss slows just as Mark is fairly sure he’s going to combust if he doesn’t feel Eduardo’s hands on him. There’s fingers splayed over his jaw line, and Eduardo slows the pace bit by bit. He starts whispering Mark’s name between kisses once it becomes a series of broken ones, and Mark groans deep in his throat.

Their mouths part, but stay open, and they lean their foreheads together. Mark keeps his eyes closed, breathing hard. “Shit,” he hears Eduardo whisper.

“Wardo,” Mark breathes, nudging Eduardo’s nose with his own, tilting to the most comfortable side again. “Wardo,” whispered into his mouth, and Eduardo exhales shakily. “Wardo, please.” Mark is aware of how desperate he sounds, but he _is_ that desperate, he _needs_ this.

“Fuck.” Eduardo kisses him again, hard and fast and deep, and Mark clings to his arms, then slides one hand into his hair while the other tugs his shirt out from where it’s tucked into his pants. He gets his palm onto the bare skin of Eduardo’s back, and rocks his hips onto Eduardo’s. It gets him a strangled sound, and then Mark is undoing Eduardo’s belt and licking at his mouth and getting a hand down his pants all at once. Eduardo breaks the kiss when Mark wraps a hand around his cock; his neck arches, he bites his already-swollen lip, eyes closed, and Mark could practically come just from watching him. He jerks him off without form or really trying to make it good; he just wants it to be fast, because Eduardo has to come _now_ , he just does, and then he needs to _touch Mark_ before there is a very messy incident.

It takes Eduardo a few minutes to come. A few minutes of neck arching, lip biting, mouth opening, erratic kisses during which he moans into Mark’s mouth, and twenty incredible seconds of sustained eye contact with an Eduardo who is more turned on than Mark has ever imagined him being. Mark is rocking his hips just against his own jeans by the end of it, and Eduardo’s hand gets into his pants almost as soon as his afterglow sets in. It takes less than half a minute for Mark to come, Eduardo’s hand on his cock, Eduardo’s mouth on his neck, and he yelps, “ _Wardo_ ,” as he spurts into his hand. Eduardo kisses him through the aftershocks. Mark is pretty sure he won’t stay standing for long.

Sure enough, his knees are wobbly when they finally break apart. “Uh — couch?” Eduardo suggests, and Mark nods, so they stumble over to it and fall onto the cushions, side by side.

“How long?” Mark asks, when they have their breath back and the silence is companionable.

“God, I don’t know. Maybe since sophomore year?” Eduardo looks at him, really looks, and smiles softly. “It’s sort of all mixed up because of what was happening, and I already loved you as a friend —”

“— it was just like, why _wouldn’t_ you fall in love,” Mark nods.

Eduardo is still smiling at him. Mark hasn’t been this sort of happy, this bone-deep content, in years. “Yeah,” Eduardo says. “So how long for you?”

“I have no idea. I know I liked you right away.” Mark smiles. “Freshman math, there was that guy —”

“Oh shit, that stupid fucking guy!” Eduardo exclaims.

“And we rolled our eyes at each other whenever he said anything, and I just wanted to make out with you a lot.” Mark can’t stop smiling. His face hurts a little, but he doesn’t care.

“Huh. Really?” Eduardo looks thoughtful. “You know, I didn’t really know what I wanted until sophomore year, that’s when I knew I wanted to — um.”

“What?” Mark asks, trying to get eye contact back. Eduardo shakes his head. “Say it!”

He leans in really close, voice pitched low, eyes locked on to Mark’s, and murmurs, “I saw you chug a bottle of beer faster than anyone else and all I could think was how good you’d be at head.” Voice even lower, he says, “That’s when I knew I wanted to fuck you.”

Mark lunges for his mouth, doesn’t catch it perfectly, but just crawls on top of Eduardo, kissing him _hard_ and biting his lips and licking at his tongue. Eduardo’s hands steady him, and then they sort of wriggle down the couch and Eduardo turns them over and lays Mark down on it, never breaking the kiss. He tugs Mark’s pants down, his shirt up, his hoodie off, and palms the length of Mark’s cock. Mark whimpers, and Eduardo finishes the kiss and smiles at him. He pushes Mark’s shirt above his nipples and starts leaving a trail of kisses across, across, down. He tongues over Mark’s hips, and Mark arches.

Eduardo’s mouth on his cock feels better than Mark had thought it would. He licks all up the underside, pays attention to the head, and he keeps sucking and stroking until Mark is _almost there_ and then pulling off and kissing along his thighs. Each time he does this, Mark moans, “No, don’t _stop_ , don’t fucking _stop_ ,” and Eduardo just hums into his skin and starts sucking and licking and stroking again when about a minute has passed. He keeps Mark from the brink for a _fuck_ of a long time, but on the fifth go-around, he doesn’t stop and it’s incredible and he swallows and Mark is the luckiest man on the planet.

“There is no way I can live up to that,” he pants, as Eduardo leans over him.

He moves close, lips up to Mark’s ear, and murmurs, “I need a bed for what I want to do next.”

If Mark’s spine didn’t already feel like it was Jell-o, it would now. “Fuck,” he breathes. Eduardo kisses him, and they manage to make it to Mark’s room without bumping into _too_ many things. Mark thinks he’ll have a bruise from one of the corners, but then Eduardo is taking his shirt off and he brought lube _with him_.

“Just in case,” he says, blushing. “I was — I guess I just saw it and grabbed it when I was packing, I was sort of rushed. I didn‘t really — I mean, I guess I must have _hoped_ , but I didn‘t really _think_ —”

“Yeah, it’s — it’s good,” Mark nods, distracted. Eduardo is naked, and he is hard, and Mark is salivating.

“C’mere,” Eduardo says, and he kisses Mark; a slow, open kiss, their hands on each other’s faces. “Do you want this?”

“Yes,” Mark nods. He sounds slightly hoarse, and clears his throat. “Yes,” he repeats, looking Eduardo in the eyes. “Please.”

He gets himself ready. It’s not that he’s shy, or anything, he just wants to do it himself. He’s never tried anal before, though he’s tried his own fingers, so he knows how to get himself to relax quickly. The fact that Eduardo is standing by the bed, hard and wearing a slicked-up condom, eyes sweeping over Mark’s body, well, it makes Mark’s hands shake, but that actually helps once they’re inside. He doesn’t have to move them much beyond the shaking, and then he does anyway, and exhales. The sound is ragged.

When he’s ready, he’s just kneeling up on all fours, looking at the wall. He feels the bed dip as Eduardo gets onto it, then he feels hands on his thighs, soft kisses over his back. He relaxes more, Eduardo’s hands move upward, and then he feels a cold, slick pressure and relaxes the muscles around it.

Eduardo slides in slowly, carefully, and Mark relaxes and relaxes and then Eduardo is completely in. Mark can feel his balls resting against his skin, and then they‘re gone as Eduardo pulls out again. The rhythm is slow at first, hesitant, and then as Mark whispers, “Wardo — fuck, _Wardo_ ,” he speeds up.

“Fucking hell, Mark,” Eduardo exhales into Mark’s back, between a trail of kisses he’s tracing from one shoulder blade to the next. He bites Mark’s shoulder and picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Fuck, tell me — tell me if it’s too fast.”

“It’s fine, it’s good, just don’t stop,” Mark groans. He’s half hard again, it just feels so _good_ with Eduardo thrusting into him — maybe pounding into him — just as he thinks it, Eduardo starts a harsher rhythm, and Mark moans and leans back to meet him in the middle. Eduardo bites his shoulder again and pounds into him, over and over until Mark is completely hard. Eduardo’s hands are on his thighs and his stomach, so he notices, and he starts jerking Mark off. His hand movements are even more erratic and desperate than the thrusts, but it _works_ and Mark might just have a meltdown it’s so fucking amazing. After a delicious while of this, Eduardo starts making broken, pleading noises in his throat, and Mark doesn’t want this to end, but he also wants Eduardo to come in his ass, so he groans louder. Eduardo buries his face in Mark’s neck, grinds out three more quick thrusts, and makes a very long, very low sound as he comes. His hand stills for a few seconds, but then it picks up its pace again. It’s a little shaky, but a stronger rhythm. He’s still inside Mark, just _in_ there, and he swirls his thumb over the head of Mark’s cock, and Mark comes three minutes later with a row of hickeys along the back of his neck. There’s a minute of clean-up and then they fall onto the bed together.

“That was, um.” Eduardo turns his face to nudge along Mark’s jaw with his nose. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Mark nods. He moves his head until it‘s in the path of Eduardo‘s mouth, lips curved as Mark kisses him. Eduardo cups his cheek with a hand, fingertips slightly stroking, the kiss slow and lazy. “We still haven’t eaten breakfast,” Mark points out, when his stomach makes its protests known.

“Good point,” Eduardo nods. “Come on.” He sits up, looking around the room. “Do you have robes?”

So Mark drags the only clean robe from a closet somewhere, and puts on one that isn’t totally clean but isn’t dirty either, and they eat their breakfast and drink some more coffee. They talk about college, and little habits they’d forgotten about each other, and Mark knows it won’t always be this easy, but he’s perfectly okay with that.


End file.
